Rumors
by Loafer
Summary: A bit of humor inspired ENTIRELY by the story titles and summaries I've been seeing here for psych lately.


**Disclaimer**: oh blah blah blah I own nothing about _psych_.

**Rating**: who cares, but K+ should do it.

**Summary**: Inspired **entirely** by the story titles and summaries I see today on the first couple of pages of psychfic here on this site.

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Shawn Spencer strolled into the police station, Gus at his side, on a Monday morning—okay, it was closer to noon, because he really didn't do mornings, and besides, Gus had an early lunch hour—ready to pick up a check, mess with his father's desk chair while he was away fishing, suck up to Chief Vick and regret that he'd lost Juliet O'Hara to Carlton Lassiter.

Gus said, "Why are these people all staring at you?"

Shawn shrugged. "People stare at me wherever I go, Gus."

"That's usually because you're doing something stupid."

"_You're_ stupid."

"I am not stupid, Shawn, and these people are definitely staring at you."

Shawn stopped, realizing Gus was right. McNab was edging closer, looking worried. Miller peered around the corner, a puzzled look on his face. Dobson nearly dropped his coffee mug when he saw him.

Lassiter strode past them, muttering, "Spencer, Guster," and then stopped and turned suddenly. "_Spencer_!"

Odd. He didn't sound angry. He sounded genuinely surprised. "Lassie, you're looking especially Irish today."

Gus added, "It's the green tie."

Lassiter cast a deeply puzzled blue gaze his way a moment and then focused on Shawn again. "We've been trying to reach you all morning."

"He dropped his phone in some salsa last night," Gus explained.

"We've been trying to reach _you_, too," Lassiter snapped. "Where's _your_ phone? The guacamole?"

Shawn held up his hands. "I may have… misplaced his work phone."

"You didn't _misplace_ it, Shawn. You put it in the freezer behind the pizza rolls."

"Misplace, freeze… semantics. But Lassiter, what's this about? What's the case?"

"Shawn!" Juliet cried from the other end of the hall. "You're okay!"

Chief Vick came out of her office. "Mr. Spencer!"

Shawn was feeling some alarm now. "I give. What's up? I'm here, I'm fine, and you're all kinda freaking me out."

"Normally he likes attention," Gus elucidated, "but then normally people aren't glad to see him."

Shawn tried to punch him in the arm but Gus backed off in time.

Lassiter said flatly, "We heard you were having some… medical issues."

"You heard… what?"

Juliet said, "It was at the coffee shop this morning. There was talk about you. All these stories. Are you okay? I mean, really okay?"

"Jules, I'm fine. Look at me. My finest wrinkled black shirt, my patented 3-day stubble, my best worn-out jeans. Pasty from too much indoor TV—Gus, we have to put the TV outside sometimes—and, okay, a little bloated from Mexican last night, but I'm fine."

Gus frowned. "What kind of stories did you hear?"

The voices were immediate and myriad. Later Shawn wasn't entirely sure who said what.

"I heard you had the flu."

"I heard it was a really _bad_ flu."

"I heard you had a heart attack!"

"No, it was brain cancer!"

"Wow, brain cancer and a heart attack? On top of the flu? That's just wrong."

"Wait, I heard you used to be married but your wife was killed. That's really sad, man."

"You have a two-year-old daughter?"

"No, she's a teenager!"

"Which one? Aren't there several?"

"You're really a cop!"

At that one, Lassiter rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Wait, was it the flu or were you poisoned?"

"What the heck is _whumping_ and why does it happen to you so often?"

"Is it true you suck at Shakespearean acting?"

"And you were locked up for three days with a psycho!"

"Which kidnapping was that? There were, like, four."

"How many sisters do you _have_, exactly?"

"Is it true," McNab asked in a low voice, "that you're in love with Detective Lassiter? Because I heard that one a _lot_."

The sound of a dozen people saying "me, too!" filled the hallway.

"Oh, my God," Lassiter growled, and Juliet put her hand on his arm to calm him. "Spencer, I don't know how you got all these rumors going at one time, but since you're obviously fine, how about you just get to work on the case Chief Vick has for you?"

Vick cleared her throat. "Yes. That's an excellent idea. Mr. Spencer, Mr. Guster, please?" She gestured to her office.

Shawn paused. "Hang on. You heard all this at the coffee shop? I don't even _get_ coffee there. Why would 'everyone,' whoever 'everyone' is, have so much false information about me?"

"It's probably from the Internet," Lassiter said dismissively. "You know people believe everything they read there."

"Huh." He let Gus guide him toward Vick's office. "Gus, does this mean all those people on the Internet want to hurt me?"

Gus shrugged. "They must. Why else would they give you the flu, cancer, a bad heart, poison, multiple kidnappings, a dead wife, several daughters, a bunch of secret sisters, and the hots for Lassiter?"

"You left out bad Shakespeare."

"I can't hit 'em all, Shawn."

"You know that's right."

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End file.
